Let Not Our Longing Slay The Appetite

God, I Pray Light These Idle Sticks Of My Life And May I Burn Up For Thee.

Our Young Men Are Going Into The Professional Fields Because They Don't 'feel Called' To The Mission Field. We Don't Need A Call; We Need A Kick In The Pants. We Must Begin Thinking In Terms Of 'going Out,' And Stop Our Weeping Because 'they Won't Come In.' Who Wants To Step Into An Igloo? The Tombs Themselves Are Not Colder Than The Churches. May God Send Us Forth.

Oh, The Fullness, Pleasure, Sheer Excitement Of Knowing God On Earth! I Care Not If I Never Raise My Voice Again For Him, If Only I May Love Him, Please Him. Mayhap In Mercy He Shall Give Me A Host Of Children That I May Lead Them Through The Vast Star Fields To Explore His Delicacies Whose Finger Ends Set Them To Burning. But If Not, If Only I May See Him, Touch His Garments, Smile Into His Eyes - Ah Then, Not Stars Nor Children Shall Matter, Only Himself.

Children Are Arrows In A Quiver, And They Are To Be Trained As Missionaries And Shot At The Devil.

Most Laws Condemn The Soul And Pronounce Sentence. The Result Of The Law Of My God Is Perfect. It Condemns But Forgives. It Restores - More Than Abundantly - What It Takes Away.